Page 39 of One-Time Shot

“Um…your knee is h-hurt,” I stammered.

“Fuck my knee.”

With that, he opened his mouth wide and swallowed me whole. I dropped my head, eyes glued on the action. I didn’t want to miss a thing because truly, there was nothing sexier in the universe than the sight of my cock between this man’s lips.

Okay, wrong. My cock in his mouth while he stroked himself was even better.

I flattened my palms to the wall, keening through gritted teeth in an effort not to come too soon. I wasn’t going to last long. He knew what he was doing—how to grip another man, how to stroke, how much pressure to apply, when to ease off. He had experience. A lot of it. I might analyze that detail later, but not now.

“I’m—you should…I’m gonna?—”

He ignored me, releasing his cock to clutch my ass cheeks and give me his full attention. I didn’t stand a chance. I cried out, thrusting my hips as my orgasm ripped through me.

I came to with Jett licking his lips, jerking himself furiously. I got on my knees in front of him and pushed him to sit before quickly moving south to return the favor. I didn’t have to do much. He came with a gasp, smacking his head against the wall.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” I whispered after a long moment.

Jett draped his forearm over his eyes. “I know.”

I peeled myself from the wall and redressed, muddling through a new exit plan. At this point, discussing yesterday’s blowjob mishap seemed futile. I wasn’t sure what to say now.

“Is your knee okay?”

“The same as always. I should ice it, but it’ll be fine.” Jett winced as he sat taller, unbothered by his nudity or the fact that his bare extremities were in contact with the cold floor. I studied his gorgeous spent penis resting in a thatch of neatly trimmed pubic hair, his thick muscular thighs and the scar that ran jaggedly along his lower torso. He caught the direction of my stare and glanced at the old wound. “I got sliced by a blade in a fucking scrimmage in juniors. I think the stitches were a shit job, ’cause it never healed the way the doctor said it would. Want something to drink?”

“Um…water, please.”

“You got it.” Jett slipped his tee on and rooted around for his boxer briefs, then stood. “You’re staring at my junk, Maloney.”

I nodded matter-of-factly. “I am.”

“Wanna talk about this?”

Yes, absolutely. This could not continue. No way, no chance.

I watched as he gracefully stepped into his briefs, one sculpted leg and the other, pulling the fabric over his ass and snapping the elastic at his waist. He was perfect. He could have been a fitness model or an underwear model or?—

Oh.

He was staring at me, perhaps waiting for those elusive words of wisdom.

“Talk?” I choked out. “No.”

Jett nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll get us some water.”

He sauntered into the kitchen a few feet away, pausing to turn on the TV. An oldStar Trek: The Next Generationepisode popped onto the screen, and darn, it was a good one featuring a battle with the fearsome Borgs. So when Jett returned with two water bottles and asked if I wanted to stay, I caved.

We sipped water and watched two reruns, commentating on the frightening list of side effects on a pharmaceutical commercial and the aerodynamic likelihood of the Borg’s cube-shaped ship being viable in space.

“It’s feasible.”

“Yeah, fucking right. A square ship could not fly in the real world,” Jett argued.

“Aerodynamics don’t apply because there’s no air in space…in the real world. There are different rules in space.”

He cocked his head as if grappling with a new concept. “I don’t like it.”

I snickered at his put-upon expression, shushing him at the end of the commercial. He shushed me from his end of the sofa, and shot a faux-grumbly glance my way.